


Unruly target

by JessicaMariana



Series: Hector & Peter - Alpha & Omega [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011), Wild Target (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angst, Breathplay, Dubious Consent, Fights, Frottage, Guns, Hallucinations, M/M, Omega Verse, Post-Reichenbach, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 07:13:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3166031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessicaMariana/pseuds/JessicaMariana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hector Dixon's life takes a 180 degree turn one day, and since then he's not really been himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Hector lets out an exasperated sigh as he drops his heavy book down on the table in front of him. He picks up his pen and chews absentmindedly on its tip while rummaging through his pockets for his phone. He stops to rub his temples for a second. Having been looking at a history textbook for over three hours has made his eyes hurt: he needs a break. He sends off a text to Peter, asking him to come down to the campus library where he is sitting.

Peter replies almost immediately, seeming not to have been disturbed. Usually he wouldn’t answer until he gets a moment. Recently it has happened more and more, so when Hector gets the approving message, he smiles.

He must have been at the studio, he thinks and leans back on his chair as he waits. Peter paints for work, and has a habit of spending hours on end in his little studio.

It’s not long before Peter walks in through the huge doors from the entrance hall. He locates Hector easily and sits down opposite him.

He looks tired. Hector frowns. Has he been up all night again? I don’t remember him coming home last night.

“Hi, how was work?” he asks.

“Tiresome,” Peter smiles crookedly at Hector, and quickly changes the subject. “Got bored?”

Hector rolls his eyes and leans forward to stroke his hands over Peter’s which rest on the cool wooden surface of the table.

“I did,” he agrees, flashing his perfect teeth at Peter. “But I need to ace this test or I’m off the scholarship: no more free rides.”

Peter knows Hector hates to ask for help because Hector knows best and always wants to do everything on his own for as long as he can - it’s just the alpha in him talking when he says that - but Peter can’t help but to tease him a little, and curtly says: “And?” pretending not to know.

Hector glares at him for a moment before replying, from between clenched teeth: “Could you help me? Otherwise you’ll have to start being the working man in this relationship while I become a housewife.”

“Of course I’ll help you.”

Peter stands up and rounds the table to sit down next to Hector instead. He puts a hand on the other side of Hector’s head and pulls him towards himself to place a quick kiss on his forehead.

Hector grumbles, but doesn’t push him away.

“Now, how far have you gotten?” Peter asks, looking down at the notepad on the table.

 

~~~~~

 

The couple spends just over an hour going through Hector’s notes and book. Peter quizzes him on the subject and it seems to eventually sink in. Finally, Hector has had enough and slams his book shut. He bends down over the table and lets his head hit it with a gentle thud.

“No more,” he moans.

“I guess that’s alright,” Peter sighs and looks at his watch. It’s almost nine already, the library would close soon. He then glances out the high windows; it’s pitch black outside. The streetlamps are just being turned on one by one, a dim orange glow lighting up the school grounds. It looks like back in the early 20th Century when the place was built. Peter loves this time of day - it’s so calming.

“Hey, Guillam,” Hector’s voice is surprisingly close to his ear, causing him to jerk in his seat. “What do you say we stay for a little longer? Not studying, but you know...”

Peter stares at him questioningly. Hector lifts an eyebrow suggestively and strokes his hand up Peter’s thigh. Peter swallows.

“Alright,” he hums and smiles.

Hector packs his things into his bag and throws it over his shoulder, then grabs Peter’s hand and pulls him into the first unlocked room that isn’t meant for studies - study rooms are inspected before the place is closed down for the night; cleaning cupboards aren’t.

Hector squeezes himself in first. Being shorter he could just fit under the sloping roof under the stairway, while Peter is pressed up against the door. He can feel Hector’s hot breath against his chest. He notices that the darkness heightens his other senses as he can’t see very well: he can smell the faint cologne Hector’s wearing which he’d gotten from Peter last Christmas; he can feel Hector’s heaving chest pushing against his whenever he inhales; he can hear the distant footsteps of the librarian going through the long aisles on her final round.

Hector lets out a huff of a chuckle and steps closer to Peter.

“Can you hear her? The librarian,” he asks, speaking in a low whisper right into Peter’s ear.

Peter nods and says yes, remembering that Hector probably didn’t see much better than him in the darkness surrounding them.

They stay in the cupboard for half an hour to make sure everyone’s left the premises before they step back outside. Peter’s blood is pumping rapidly through his body as they exit, looking around the slightly less darker space.

In the night the library looks ever bigger. No lights are on inside, but the ones outside, standing in long lines along the pavement, cast long shadows across the stone floors. Peter looks up at the ceiling - it seems even higher now as it’s invisible, disappearing into blackness.

“Wow,” he says to himself.

“Marvelous, isn’t it?” Hector slides a hand up and down Peter’s shoulder, with a smile. He loves seeing Peter like this; passionate and inspired.

“Yes,” Peter sighs. His pale eyes glimmer in the dim light. “Breathtaking.”

Hector thinks Peter could use much of this new, never-seen-before version of the library as inspiration for his paintings. He takes Peter’s hand and drags him off to explore the new sights. The library is familiar ground to him, but in the dark it’s hard to find the way without bumping into chairs, tables and other things.

Peter follows quietly for a moment before he loosens his grip on Hector’s hand and lets him walk on ahead of him. He looks around. Even though he knows they’re alone he can’t help feeling like they’re not. The place goes silent. He stops. He listens. Hector’s pacing some distance in front of him.

“Dixon,” Peter hisses. He’s on the alert. The silence leaves an uneasy feeling growing inside him.

Hector doesn’t reply. He’s stopped moving, or he’s gone too far, because Peter can’t hear him anymore. And since he’s not the one used to the place, he can’t just wander around.

Suddenly there’s a hand on Peter’s waist, snaking around him from behind. He jerks in surprise, and turns on the spot. Hector’s flashing his teeth at him in a wide grin.

“What?” he asks nonchalantly when he sees Peter’s wide open eyes glaring down at him.

“Nothing,” Peter replies and takes a deep breath to relax. He places his hands on Hector’s shoulders and steps closer so that their chests rub together. He leans down and kisses him.

Hector leans back, leaving the kiss light. He looks up at his partner and sees that his pupils have darkened.

“What’s this?” he says, and frowns. He moves his other hand up to cup Peter’s cheek. It feels hot under his touch.

Peter sighs at the touch and leans into it. The excitement and the thought of trespassing has him on an adrenaline rush. He feels like nothing can stop him; not even Hector, if he was to use the commanding tone of voice of the alpha he was.

Peter again presses his lips decisively against Hector’s. All of a sudden his blood is roiling.

“Let’s do it,” he says, breaking the kiss to look at Hector.

In confusion Hector stares at him for a moment. Peter rolls his hips against him. Hector can feel the evident hardening of Peter’s cock rub against his stomach. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip and smiles.

“Just what I wanted,” he agrees, and runs his hands down Peter’s back to grasp his ass.

“Not here, though.”

Peter reaches behind himself and grabs hold of one of Hector’s hands, and pulls him along with him as he strides back into the central area.

He walks down the main aisle lined with long rows of high bookshelves, and turns into the furthest one. He pushes Hector up against a shelf, causing books to fall onto their sides with thuds. Hector gasps by the sudden impact, but doesn’t complain. He likes it when Peter’s being direct and rough. Sometimes he even thinks Peter could be an alpha if it wasn’t for the fact that he has an omega’s reproductive organs.

He growls as Peter’s lips again lock with his, and his tongue persistently pushes against them. He happily parts them for Peter. Their tongues collide, slithering around one another and over teeth, eliciting slick noises. The couples breaths become heavy within seconds and Peter grabs Hector’s shirt to keep him in place.

Hector grabs Peter’s too. He feels the possessiveness of the alpha in him seep out. He pulls Peter against him for a moment before shoving him to the side, turning them over to switch places.

Peter moans when Hector’s left leg pushes in between his legs, rubbing his half hard cock. He lets go of Hector’s shirt and instead runs his long fingers through Hector’s neatly combed hair. He firmly tugs as the ashy strands.

A rumble vibrates in Hector’s chest as he bares his teeth at Peter when being pulled back.

Peter looks down at him, breathlessly chuckling, as his cock twitches at the sight and sound.

Hector buries his face in the crook of Peter’s neck and sniffs at it, inhaling the omega’s scent deeply. He can just about taste the adrenaline pumping through Peter’s veins. Hector hums and presses his mouth to the exposed skin.

“Delicious,” he sighs to himself. A faint shiver shoots up his spine. He’s already rock hard; his trousers are tented, and a tiny spot of dampness has spread where the head rests against the dark fabric.

Peter tips his head back on his shoulders and closes his eyes. He bites his lips, holding back a moan as Hector’s canines scrape down his neck, threatening to dig in.

“Yes,” Peter breathes. “Yes. Do it.”

He pushes his hips invitingly against Hector, who grabs him by the ass. Hector part his lips further and sinks his teeth into the skin between them, drawing out a cry of both pleasure and pain from Peter, who wraps his arms tightly around Hector’s neck.

“Oh God,” Peter moans.

Hector sucks up the blood dripping out of the fresh cuts and laps at the reddened skin. He slides one hand up some way Peter’s back and snakes it inside his jeans. With a fluid motion he moves it down the crack of his ass and circles a finger around the puckered, moist hole. It flutters, causing more of the natural lubricant to drip onto Hector’s fingers and the inside of Peter’s pants.

Peter tugs at Hector’s shirt, holding onto it as Hector’s middle finger penetrates him mercilessly. He gasps into Hector’s ear. His hot breath has Hector burying his face in the hollow of Peter’s throat.

“Dixon,” Peter whispers. “Fuck me.”

Hector, lost in the moment, doesn’t catch his words and has to lean back to look at his mate. “What?” He licks his blood stained lips.

“Fuck me, Dixon,” Peter repeats, and slides his hands down Hector’s sides and in between their bodies. He rubs both their erections through their trousers, and gasps at the sensation. Just what he needs - friction.

“Shit,” Hector grunts, rolling his hips firmer against Peter’s hand and takes a step forward, forgetting about the hand he himself has shoved down Peter’s pants. “Wait.”

Peter lets his hands fall to his sides. Hector rubs his cock right against Peter’s, quickly setting up a rhythm with him that slowly takes them to the edge of climax together.

Hector pulls his hand out of Peter’s trousers and runs it up his back on the inside of his shirt. Peter shudders as the slick fluid is smeared over his skin.

“That’s it,” Hector encourages him, rolling his hips with fervour. “Keep that up.”

Peter can feel Hector’s thick cock sliding alongside his own. He can feel the knot building up at its base. The image of it rubbing against his ass instead sends an electric charge shooting through his body, straight to his groin, and he comes in his pants. He grabs Hector by the waist and thrusts against him as his cock pulses. His mouth falls open as the rest of his body tenses, and the muscles in his stomach jerk as he empties himself.

Hector stops momentarily to look down, then slips a hand to cup Peter’s cock, to feel it slowly go soft. He smiles at the touch of dampness spreading through the rough fabric.

“Did you come?” he asks cheekily.

“You didn’t,” Peter says, and immediately tells him to take a step back, while he gets down on his knees. He mouths at Hector’s cock, and it’s not long before Hector’s thrusting against his eager lips, tongue and teeth.

He’s on the edge, almost about to tip over. He whispers Peter’s name over and over, like a chant, to hold on for a little more. He grabs Peter by the back of his head and pushes him ruthlessly against his crotch. He stops moving, repeating Peter’s name in his head as he spills over with a groan.

Suddenly, Hector stiffens in different manner. He sniffs the air. Noticing this, Peter freezes too; his ears piqued. Hector looks over his shoulder and a low growl escapes his throat. Peter hurries back onto his feet and looks in the same direction. It seems that he has been right to previously feel uneasy.

“Well, well, well... Look at that,” comes a smarmy, unknown voice from the end of the aisle followed by it’s source: a tall, muscular silhouette of an alpha. “Two faggots having a private sausage fest.”

A group of other males, also alphas judging by their scent and size, laugh in the darkness behind him.

“Is it even legal?” one asks with disgust thick in his voice.

“No. It’s not,” the first replies shortly, and steps closer.

A third cracks his knuckles together.

Peter holds onto the hem of Hector’s shirt as the first one approaches. A shiver runs down his spine. Panic seeps into his nervous system and he becomes unable to move. Hector is discreetly trying to pull Peter behind him by tugging at his sleeve, but Peter just won’t move, no matter how he tries. The number of alphas is too much for him to handle. Their scents merged together surrounds him, and his mind goes foggy; he drowns in pheromones.

Before they know it the other alphas have joined the pack leader and are surrounding the couple. The tallest one, but not the strongest looking, leans his hand against the shelf by Peter’s shoulder.

“Look at that!” he says with a frown, baring his teeth. “They’ve bonded. That’s so disgusting.”

“Fucking faggots,” another alpha chimes in, while a couple of others spit on the floor by Peter’s feet. “They should know it’s against the law. We should teach them a lesson.”

Peter inhales sharply just as a fist from nowhere makes contact with his stomach, and he doubles over, gasping for air, clasping a hand over the struck spot. He feels his stomach roll and bile rises up his throat. Hector can see he’s about to be sick and steps aside.

He growls at the sight and glares at the other alpha. He’s instantly throwing several punches back towards him, but another catches him from behind, locking Hector’s arms behind his back as well as he can considering Hector’s thrashing.

Peter wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and slowly straightens himself, looking at the group now trying to hold Hector in place as one aims a kick at his side. The first alpha grabs Peter by the hair and tilts his head back, stretching his neck.

“Male omegas shouldn’t even exist,” he says and his eyes glow dangerously. He fists his hand and aims it at Peter’s stomach again.

When they collide, Peter’s back hits the shelf and the wind is knocked out of him. He falls to the floor, one hand clutching his chest tightly as he gasps for air. His eyes water. He can’t breathe no matter how hard he tries to inhale. He blindly reaches for Hector, but he’s not close enough. The other alphas have shoved him down on the floor a few feet away and are kicking him.

“You fuckers!” Hector screams and kicks around, hoping to hit someone by chance. He’s not giving up without a fight.

“Silence him,” the pack leader snaps and turns to look at them.

Peter sees his chance - the leader being distracted - and dives forward to grab him by the ankles. He manages to trip the alpha, who falls to the floor with a loud thud and a crack. Peter gets up on all four and crawls towards him. He’s dead set on hurting someone for hurting Hector and himself, but before he gets another step closer, a foot makes contact with his side and he falls back down to the cold floor, face first, wrapping his arms around his waist. He shouts in pain.

Hector’s head snaps up and he looks in Peter’s direction. A sudden sense of indestructibility comes over him, and he aims a punch at one of the alphas coming at him, hitting him straight in the face. The alpha falls to the floor, knocked out.

The pack leader stands back up. His nose hit the floor in the fall and broke, causing blood to gush down his chin onto his clothes. He bends down and grabs Peter by the back of his neck and punches him in the face. Peter’s vision blurs for a second before going black. He collapses to the floor, unconscious.

“GUILLAM,” Hector yells. Rage has taken him over completely by now. He manages another impact with his foot against another alpha’s body. It hits him in the groin, and he falls to the floor, howling in pain.

Hector breaks free from the last one’s grip and charges at the pack leader who’s facing him with his fists raised. It’s a fight between the two alphas as the last one looks over his companions, now and then shouting encouraging words at his leader.

Hector dodges a punch by an inch and throws one straight at the alpha’s face. It hits him with a smack, causing him to stagger backwards. He wipes his jawline with his forearm, and as he looks down at all the blood smeared on it, he growls.

Hector sees an opening and runs head first into the alpha. While tackling him to the floor, he reaches for his bag, abandoned on the floor by the foot of one of the shelves. He holds the alpha down by straddling him, one hand pressing firmly against his throat as the other rummages the contents of his bag until he finds what he’s looking for; his pen knife. He draws it and presses it against the alphas neck which he squeezes with his other hand.

He struggles to find anything to say. He’s so enraged that he can’t even swear. He opens his mouth to say something but immediately closes it again. He glances over his shoulder at Peter lying on the floor next to them. Hector raises his fist and lands it one final time to the pack leader’s face. The collision of it makes the alpha’s head hit the floor and he falls unconscious. Hector huffs in relief and stands up. He watches the last alpha trying to get his friends up. Hector’s not going to let him. He charges; his knife held high; and stabs it right through the other’s hand. He pulls it out and blood freely flows from the cut.

Hector smiles crookedly. He’s feeling victorious.

While the last alpha staggers to the floor, Hector turns to Peter. He rushes over to his side and turns him onto his back.

“Guillam,” he says, tapping his cheek. “Guillam!”

Peter stirs but doesn’t wake up.

At least he’s alive, Hector breathes a sigh of relief. He pulls Peter up onto his back, draping his arms over his shoulders along with his bag, and carries them away. He takes Peter to the entrance hall where he lays him down on a bench.

Hector doesn’t know what to do. He can’t call an ambulance because they’d give both him and Peter a once over and notice the evidence of them bonding not an hour ago. They’ll get in trouble with the law. But as it looks now Hector will anyway because of the state he’s left the alphas in the other room.

He sighs and reaches for his phone but pockets it when he sees it’s out of juice. He digs for Peter’s instead. He dials 999, takes a deep breath, and waits.

 

~~~~~

 

“Sir! Mr. Guillam is making a phone call,” the operator patches through, automatically hits the record-button on her machine, and listens. “It’s going to the emergency central - he’s dialed 999.” There’s the briefest pause. “It’s not Mr. Guillam! I think it’s Mr. Dixon.”

A man scuttles to the operator’s side and listens carefully through her headphones as Hector speaks.

“Yes, hello. I need an ambulance,” he speaks in a low but hurried voice. “We’re at the University Library.”

The listening man looks at the operator, and quickly tells her to intercept the call and redirect it to herself. The operator says it’s too late, that the arrangements have been made. The man tells her to send out a couple of their men with medical knowledge, to intercept the ambulance instead and take it to the scene of the happening. The operator does as she’s been told.

“But sir,” she says when their men are on the way and Hector’s hung up. “Why not let the real ambulance crew take care of Mr. Guillam?”

“Because we might need Dixon,” the man says, his face set in a deadly serious expression. “And if we let them take him in, he won’t get out. Besides... it’s Guillam’s own orders.”

 

~~~~~

 

Hector swears under his breath. He looks up through the high window and sees the headlights of a car approach. He internally prays for it to be the ambulance. He doesn’t care if he’s taken into custody as long as Peter gets to go to a hospital.

“Hector.”

Hector looks down, and freezes. Peter’s squinting up at him.

“You’re alright,” Peter says.

Hector bites his lip, and nods. “You’ll be too.”

The main doors are being knocked at, and Hector hurries to unlock them. The men run straight to Peter’s side, followed by Hector. They tell him to stay back while they check Peter over. Peter frowns when he sees the two familiar faces bend over him.

“Mr. Dixon called an ambulance,” one of them whispers when Peter is about to ask why they’re there.

“We couldn’t let you get taken in,” the other says in the same low tone, and smiles. “Not that we think you couldn’t handle yourself, Mr. Guillam, but Mr. Dixon would get taken in too, and we heard your orders before you left earlier.”

Peter huffs a chuckle and closes his eyes, nodding discreetly. “Good.”

“What should we do about Mr. Dix-----”

Peter suddenly coughs loudly. He rolls onto his side, grabbing the hard edge of the bench, causing his knuckles to whiten.

Hector immediately rushes back to his side, pushing one of the other men to the side, and kneels next to his partner. His face furrows in worry as he sees blood drip from between Peter’s lips into a pool on the floor that Hector’s just smeared with his knee.

The medics look at each other with equal worry.

Peter raises his hand and lowers his head in defeat, and leans it against Hector’s chest. When he inhales it sounds like there’s something stuck in his throat and he’s choking on it.

“Hector,” he breathes, and swallows. One hand starts down Hector’s side and reaches for the pocket of his jeans. “I want...”

Hector looks confusedly at him and tries to remember what he’s got in his pockets. Nothing, he thinks, but then realises Peter could be after his jacket pocket, in which he’s got a flask. He tells Peter to wait while he scurries over to his bag where he’s put his jacket, and finds the flask. Peter reaches for it, unscrewing the lid while Hector holds it up in front of him. He guides it to Peter’s lips and lets him have a swig. Peter swallows a couple of times, and then pushes the flask back towards Hector, who re-screws the cap and puts it down on the floor.

Hector looks at one of the medics in a silent scream for help.

“He’s got major internal bleeding,” one of them says quietly, studying Peter’s behaviour. He clenches his fist behind his back out of Hector’s sight. “The chances are small, but we could save him if we get him to the hospital.”

Hector doesn’t know what to say or do. He never imagined Peter’s injuries were so bad.

“You hear that, Guillam? You’ll be alright,” Hector whispers, in an attempt to calm his own nerves, but his voice breaks midway. “You’ll be alright.” He hugs Peter and tries to stand up to make way for the medics, but Peter grabs his sleeve.

“Don’t go,” he murmurs. His eyes are closed as he sags back onto his back with a rattling breath. “Don’t go.” His voice fades. “Don’t...”

Hector gets back on his knees, leaning his forehead against the bench next to Peter’s face.

Peter wraps an arm around his shoulders. He rubs his good cheek against Hector and buries his face in his tousled hair. The comfortable scent of him takes over his senses as he inhales, and soon his eyes grow heavy, and he falls unconscious. Hector holds him close, an arm placed gently around his waist, the fingers of the other entwining with the ones Peter’s got hanging over him. He closes his eyes, listening to Peter’s unsteady breaths until they get so faint he can’t hear them anymore.

“Peter,” Hector mumbles into his ear. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare.”

He looks up. Peter’s slipped back into unconsciousness, and Hector feels a lot like doing the same. He moves his hand from Peter’s waist up to his chest, right above his heart. He can’t feel it beating. He inhales, surprised at how hard the action is and how it trembles.

“Peter,” he repeats inaudibly.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

One of the medics puts his hand on Hector’s shoulder and pulls Peter’s hand away from his grip. He places the hand on top of Peter’s stomach, and then looks at Hector’s tear-streaked face. Hector tries to act as if he’s not crying, and does so silently as the two men put Peter on a stretcher and take him away.

Hector sinks to the floor, his knees buckling completely from under him, his back hunching over, his usually proud posture gone. He watches as the ambulance is loaded and then takes off into the night.

 

~~~~~

 

“Look at that, Seb. How miserable. I need to change that. You know I can’t stand seeing a beast like that hurt.”

James smiles crookedly and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Sebastian, arms folded over his chest, looks the other way, uninterested.

“Didn’t you see what just happened?” James asks and turns his head to look at the taller, more muscular man. “He... and his little pet... got surrounded by a pack of wolves, and took them down single handedly.”

“Oh really? Not bad,” Sebastian snorts and throws his cigarette to the wet ground with a small frizzle. “You think you can do it - change him?”

“Oh yes,” James hisses. He and Sebastian watch in silence as Hector slowly walks towards them across the lawn, heading for the underground station on the other side of the campus.

“I must say, you did one hell of a job in there,” James says with pretended nonchalance, loud enough for Hector to hear as he passes them. “I mean, you ruined my night by doing so...” James shrugs. “But I can’t help being impressed. And it is hard to impress me.”

Hector stops dead in his tracks, but doesn’t turn around to face the two men leaning on the corner of the building. He doesn’t really care what this stranger has to say to him, but he might as well listen because if he gets cocky, Hector can just stab him and get some of this frustration and other shit out of his system. He squeezes the handle of the knife in his pocket at the thought.

“I just think you could have finished the job properly while you were at it,” James continues, like it was an obvious thing Hector should have thought about and done.

Hector looks over his shoulder with his red eyes, and slowly turns towards him. James’ droopy, dark eyes are locked onto him, glowing dangerously in the dim light of the street lamp.

“So what do you say?” he asks. “Care to do the job? Or do I have to get my little hands dirty? Then of course, you’d have to go along with them.” He nods towards the library.

Hector chuckles and a smile grows on his lips, baring his teeth.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hector's new life is hard, and doesn't exactly get better when Sherlock Holmes steps into it.

Hector aims his gun; the silencer screwed on the end of the barrel. He smiles, and pulls the trigger. A silent blow is the only thing necessary to cause the blood to splatter out the back of his victim’s head, and the body to lifelessly fall to the wet ground.

He takes off his black leather gloves, picks his phone up from his trouser pocket and hits speed dial number one.

“It’s done,” he says, and just as he’s about to hang up a sing-song voice on the other end calls out to him.

“Well done,” it sighs delightfully.

Hector puts the phone back up to his ear. “You’re supposed to be dead,” he replies to James with a frown, thinking he usually spoke to someone else, someone who replied him with one word to affirm the completion of the mission.

“Change of plans,” James says. “It seems to have been too soon to leave. No one’s able to pick up the work I left behind.” He chuckles. “Now, why don’t you come over so I can give you your next assignment… I hear that at least you’ve been doing well, keeping things up while I’ve been away.”

Hector scoffs and asks for the directions to wherever James is hiding this time. He gets the name of a hotel and the number of a room. He then makes his way through the alley, to the main street where he hails a cab.

 

~~~~~

 

“Here’s your next hit.”

Hector takes the folder he’s given by Sebastian, and glances through it.

“Sherlock Holmes?” he asks sceptically. “Isn’t that the detective?”

“Yes.”

“The dead detective?”

“No. He’s going to be dead... this time, for sure, since I’m putting you on the job.” James turns towards Hector with a sad smile. “I hope you’re not going to let me down. You’ve proven yourself worthy of your title as Fighter of Lost Causes.”

Since Hector started working for James he’d gotten a reputation of taking down one government official after another that was on the side of the law that forbade male omegas from bonding. He’d found a reason to fight for same sex relationships; a reason to stay alive. And it wasn’t because James gave him the hits, for him to have something to do, it was because of the tiny hope he still had for a better future for others like him who’d lost their partners due to violence. When bonding, most of them did, after all, bond for life.

Hector raises an eyebrow in disbelief. He wasn’t surprised. James had faked his death too, it seems, so why couldn’t this Holmes as well? He just can’t see how he could do a job James couldn’t.

Hector gets off the sofa he’s been seated in, and heads across the room.

“I’m on it,” he says quietly as he opens the door, and leaves.

“You picked a fine specimen,” Sebastian remarks and walks up to James standing by the window.

“I have an eye for these things,” James sighs. “But just in case I’m wrong, which I really hope I’m not...  watch him.”

 

~~~~~

 

Hector heads directly to Baker Street, hoping Holmes will be stupid enough to have returned there, so he can get another person off the list. But the place looks deserted; the lights are off yet the curtains aren’t drawn over the high windows. Pointing a torch nonchalantly at one, Hector can just barely see the floating dust in the room and the layer of it on the furniture visible from the street.

 

~~~~~

 

Hector makes his way to the nearest hotel and checks in. He knows he won’t sleep much, but he needs a place out of the rain which only seems to increase.

Hector lets out a breath of relief. He’s finally able to lean back and have a moment of silence. He tries to enjoy it as long as he can, because he knows his mind won’t stay quiet for long.

A silhouette appears behind his eyelids. He blinks it away and frowns. The silhouette is back in no time, but now it seems to be standing freely in the centre of the room. Hector rubs his eyes and looks away, but the figure moves to the corner of his eye, following him. He glances at it. It’s getting more vivid; it takes the shape of a taller man.

Hector swears and closes his eyes. He feels a hand on his shoulder. He cringes at the touch and tries to squirm away. Something heavier is leaned against his chest, and when he opens his eyes and looks down, he only sees sandy strands of straight hair. He gasps, horrified. The figure straightens, looks at him, and smiles warmly. But he looks sad.

Peter reaches his hand to cup Hector’s cheek. Hector slaps the hand away and stiffens when it goes through the other. He gets up and turns his back to Peter, screws his eyes shut and mutters under his breath.

“Shut up,” he hisses from between clenched teeth. “Go away. You’re… You’re dead! Leave me alone.”

Hector takes his gun out of the inner pocket of his jacket, and in one swift motion, turns around, aiming it at thin air. Peter’s gone.

A rough shudder ripples through Hector and he feels like being sick. He doubles over and concentrates hard on keeping it all down.

Since four months ago, when Peter died, Hector has been seeing him everywhere, and his hallucinations are getting more and more vivid. He knows they’re not real, but it’s hard to ignore the reminder of his late partner, especially when he gets so close, when he’s being touched. Its touches feel so real.

At least he hasn’t started talking… Hector thinks, stoking a cool hand over his brow. Yet.

Because of this, Hector strongly dislikes being on his own. This happens whenever his mind quiets down and he has a moment to relax, to think about something other than his job. But being alone also allows him to deal with it in any way he can - in public it’s much harder, trying not to scream or throw punches at nothing.

Hector pockets his gun and sags down on his neatly made bed. He looks over at the mini bar and dives for the biggest bottle of the strongest liquid he can find. Holmes probably won’t be too easy to find anyway, and they day is coming to an end, so he calls it a night.

 

~~~~~

 

Hector wakes with a raging headache. He rolls over onto his stomach and buries his face in his pillow. He doesn’t mind hangovers, they keep his mind busy with healing his body and therefore doesn’t give him hallucinations. He can actually relax.

He takes a moment to wake up properly, just lying in bed, listening to the traffic on the street outside. After a while he decides to get up, shower, and go down to the restaurant for breakfast. He just orders coffee, and when it arrives, enjoys it to the full.

Suddenly the cup slips from his grip and clatters onto the table, spilling the dark liquid all over the rim of the saucer and onto the white cloth. Hector stoops over it, hand grasping his shirt tightly. He screws his eyes shut. He feels a hand on his shoulder. He tries to take a deep breath, but the hand’s still there. He glances up and gasps. He feels like he’s choking.

The grip on him gets firmer

“No,” Hector mutters. “No, you’re not--- Not today.” He curses his body and mind for betraying him.

“Get a hold of yourself, and get up,” a hurried, low voice speaks close to his ear.

Hector grabs the hand on him and squeezes.

This is a new level of fucked up. Peter usually doesn’t speak. But that is so clearly his voice.

“Did you hear me? Get up!”

It’s like Hector’s mind is working on its own, and he gets onto his trembling feet.

Before he can react, an arm wraps under his arms, around his back, and supports him while he’s being dragged away, through the lobby to the lifts. Peter asks for his room number, and half out of it, Hector mumbles the answer. They’re soon on the right floor, through the door and inside Hector’s room. Hector keeps his eyes shut the entire time, and doesn’t open them until he feels he’s being pushed down onto his bed. He then opens them wide and looks straight at Peter, except… it’s not Peter.

The man standing over him, looking down at him with a serious expression on his face, looks like Peter, but there’s a distinct difference in the air around him. And instead of the straight blonde strands Hector’s used to, he’s got dark curls. His build is slightly leaner too. But his facial expression, if softened a little, and his voice, are the same; even the strange shift of colour in his pale blue-green eyes.

“You’re not-----,” Hector tries to say something.

“You’re Hector Dixon, a hitman. You’re after me.”

Hector frowns. This man looks familiar, but Hector can’t pinpoint where he’s seen him before. And what does he mean, “after him”? Then it becomes clear to him: this is Sherlock Holmes.

Hector inhales deeply, and is stricken by the scent of an omega. A shiver runs through his body. He can’t believe this man’s an omega. He can feel his cock twitch with interest in his trousers.

Sherlock doesn’t notice - he’s staring, boring his eyes into Hector. His breath catches in his throat. Hector Dixon reminds him of John Watson. There’s an obvious difference, of course; his build, his way of speaking, his style of clothing, his eyes. But his lips are the same.

A strange feeling surges through Sherlock’s body. He frowns and straightens himself. He takes a step back and clears his throat.

Hector stays on the bed, lying on his back, looking at the ceiling.

“So, are you going to kill me before I can kill you?” he asks, redirecting his eyes to Sherlock. “Don’t take me wrong, but you don’t seem like that kind of man.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” Sherlock counters.

Hector gets up on his elbows to get a better look at the man standing next to the bed.

He looks nervous, Hector thinks. Maybe it’s just the way he stands. He’s probably on the alert. He should be.

Hector smirks. He sits up, feet over the edge, and then stands up. He looks up at Sherlock.

Sherlock doesn’t move, not even when Hector’s hand reaches out and grabs his wrist. Hector tightens his grip and quickly pulls Sherlock down, turning them over and pushing him down on the floor. Sherlock gasps. Hector straddles his hips and closes both his hands around Sherlock’s long neck. Hector unconsciously rolls his hips while squeezing tighter, and feels, much to his surprise, Sherlock’s cock twitch against his ass. Hector tilts his head slightly to the side and raises an eyebrow.

Sherlock scoffs, but doesn’t look away. He licks his full bottom lip as he watches Hector’s thin ones part. He shivers at the complete difference in teeth from the ones he’s felt John sink into his neck a few times, and at the glance he gets of Hector’s canines, much longer than John’s. His cock it getting harder by the second. He tries to ignore it, to subdue it, but Hector rocks his hips in a slow rhythm on top of him, causing his determination to falter.

“You’re fucked,” Hector growls.

He gets up long enough to grab Sherlock by the shoulder and turn him over onto his stomach. He then gets back down on top of him, and leans forward to let out a warning growl into his ear.

Sherlock lies still. He knows better than to let Hector take this any further, but at the same time he wants it: it’s been over a year since he left John, and he’s spent so many heats alone that he figures he could indulge himself this once. He won’t lose sight of why he or Hector is there. He can separate that from everything else going on at the moment.

Hector suddenly pulls Sherlock’s coat halfway down his arms, and rips his shirt open. He squeezes one hand under and around Sherlock’s neck, cutting the airflow from his lungs once again, while he bites down on his now bare shoulder. Hector can feel his shoulder blades working beneath him.

Sherlock groans and thumps his head against the carpeted floor. He pushes his hips against the rough surface beneath him.

Hector’s other hand forces its way down Sherlock’s front and dips inside his trousers to stroke the half hard length between his legs.

Sherlock’s vision begins to darken. He gasps for air. His eyes roll back.

Hector slowly lets go, and Sherlock desperately coughs air back into his lungs. He can feel Hector’s cock harden, pressing against his ass.

This is dangerous, he thinks.

Hector licks at the bruising mark he’s left on Sherlock’s shoulder, and leans back to look at it from a different angle. He slides his hand back up from Sherlock’s trousers and pushes his coat up over his shoulders, covering his head with the thick fabric. He forcibly pulls down Sherlock’s trousers next, and smiles delightfully at the skin of his exposed ass.

Just like Peter’s, he sighs to himself, and caresses the soft mounds.

Sherlock tenses beneath him. He can clearly feel the outline of Hector’s growing cock and the knot building at its base. He swears under his breath, afraid of the thought of being knotted. John had knotted him once before and it had felt like heaven, but just by feeling Hector’s... it felt definitely larger, and it put him on edge.

Hector tells Sherlock to raise his hips, to get on all four, but Sherlock won’t move. Hector lands an open-palmed slap on one asscheek, causing Sherlock to let out a shameful moan.

“Get up,” Hector says, teeth clenched, eyes on the flushing skin. “Or I’ll fuck you so hard where you are that you’ll feel it even after I kill you.”

Trembling, Sherlock shifts beneath him, and Hector gets up on his knees to give him space. What comes next surprises him so much that he doesn’t have time to react.

Sherlock turns around and dives on top of him, pushing him down onto his back. A thin sheen of sweat covers his skin; he’s panting and his eyes are locked onto Hector.

He hates the scent of this alpha, but it’s got his body reacting against his will, and there’s little else he can do but give in to it. He’s wandered off the grid and there is no turning back.

Hector looks up at Sherlock, half amused. He’s intrigued; he wants to see where this is going, and only therefore lets Sherlock take control for now. He secretly just hopes Sherlock won’t give up and try to run.

Hector bucks his hips, his throbbing erection pressing up against Sherlock’s bare ass through his trousers.

Sherlock gasps and clenches his legs together on either side of Hector. He can’t help rolling his hips to meet the pleasurable friction against his balls and the underside of his cock. Soon, he hesitantly reaches down and starts to unbutton Hector’s trousers to pull them down to his knees.

Hector’s cock springs free and rests against his stomach. Sherlock looks at it, the reddened, glistening head and the drop of precome slowly forming over the slit. He licks his lips. He can feel the lubricant in his ass drip out and down his thighs. Hector can also feel it, the dampness spreading over his groin. He grabs the base of his cock, just above the knot and rubs it against Sherlock’s.

Sherlock squirms but doesn’t break the rhythm his hips have set up. His body is moving on its own now, but it’s not enough. He only wants to be on top so he can decide the pace they’re going.

Hector moves his erection so that it now rubs up between Sherlock’s asscheeks. He tells Sherlock to lower his weight on him completely. Sherlock relaxes his legs and rubs firmer against Hector. The knot presses up against his balls every time he moves his hips forward. Hector can feel them tightening. The slick noises coming from between them fill the room, merging with their heavy breathing.

“You better get a move on,” Hector says nonchalantly after another moment. He shudders at the sound of his own words - four months and he’s already starting to mimic James. Why, he had no idea. He didn’t even spend that much time with his employer.

Sherlock hears it too and stills momentarily. The room goes silent.

Hector carefully snakes a hand up Sherlock’s inner thigh and wraps his hand around his cock. Sherlock moans and closes his eyes. Hector huffs a chuckle at his reaction - he likes it.

“Raise your hips,” he says quietly.

Sherlock straightens above him, and Hector guides the head of his length against Sherlock’s hole.

“Now, get back down,” Hector continues.

Sherlock does so, ever so slowly. He stops when he can feel the head prodding at his leaking hole. He doesn’t want it in; he doesn’t want to go any further than that. If Hector would give his cock a few tugs now he could come and it would all be over.

However, Hector doesn’t plan on that. He grabs Sherlock by his waist and pulls him down, impaling him on his erection. Sherlock cries out, throwing his head back, his mouth hanging open - it’s not painful, but the sudden stretch is so overwhelmingly good that he almost comes. His cock leaks continuously.

Hector inhales sharply at the feeling of the surrounding heat and firm clenching around him. Sherlock repositions himself more comfortably and moves his knees from under him to in front, raised against his stomach. He places both hands on Hector’s chest and starts to rise. Hector’s curved length languidly slides out of him before he sinks back on it. He sets up a slow pace, afraid to come too soon because he doesn’t have a plan of escape yet, and he needs to figure one out before this is over. One solution is killing Hector before he can kill Sherlock.

Hector lowers his hands from Sherlock’s waist, down his thighs, and stops at his knees. He slides them in under them and pushes upwards, causing Sherlock to lose his grip of Hector’s chest and topple backwards. Hector’s cock sinks as deep inside him as possible without knotting him as Hector rises above him. Sherlock’s mouth falls open in a silent scream as Hector forces him onto his back. He starts pounding into Sherlock relentlessly, while bending over him to bite at whatever bare skin he can reach. Sweat smears from his forehead onto Sherlock.

The scents of the alpha and omega, and their pheromones, thicken the air, making it much harder for the both of them to breathe. Unabashed moans and pants also fill the room along with wet slaps of skin on skin and the rustling of clothes.

Abruptly Hector releases his grip on one of Sherlock’s legs and reaches inside his jacket. He pulls out his gun, silencer unattached, and shoves it into Sherlock’s mouth.

Sherlock breathes hard around the cold metal and looks up at Hector with his pale eyes. Hector looks back down at him. A surge of heat flushes through him, straight to his groin, at the sight before him. His hips sutter. He moves the gun further in and Sherlock gags around it, causing Sherlock’s eyes to water and saliva to dribble out from between his lips and down his chin.

Hector holds the gun in place as his thrusts become harder and faster. He’s teetering on the edge already, but he’s determined to make Sherlock come first. He releases the other leg and wraps that hand around Sherlock’s drooling cock. He strokes it in time with his hips. Sherlock sobs around the gun and feels the familiar coil deep in the pit of his stomach. He tenses. Hector, when looking down to see what effect he has on the omega, can see Sherlock’s balls tighten where they rest against his own length, just before he comes. His cock pulses in Hector’s unwavering grip as his semen shoots out over his stomach, and some of it even pools in the hollow of his neck.

Hector simply groans as the muscles contract rhythmically around his erection. But he doesn’t stop thrusting.

Relief washes over Sherlock when Hector takes the gun out of his mouth and pockets it. However, he keeps trembling in Hector’s arms - Hector is still stroking him, taking him past post-orgasmic bliss into oversensitivity. Sherlock begins to squirm. Whichever way Hector touches his softening cock it sends electric charges through his body. Soon he’s writhing in Hector’s grip; he’s arching his back; his breath is uneven; he wants to clench his shaking legs together. He’s soon hard again against his own will.

Hector smiles. He can finally let himself go, but he’ll be sad when it’s over: he still has a job to do. But a nagging at the back of his mind is telling him not to kill Sherlock. To make it worse, his vision suddenly goes blurry for a moment, and when he refocuses, Sherlock’s dark curls are growing straight and bleached. Hector stops abruptly, staring down at the image of Peter in his arms; his face is flushed, his fringe is sticking to his face because of the sweat, and his moistened eyes boring straight into Hector.

Hector’s breath hitches in this chest. He closes his eyes and tries to focus on what he’s doing - on fucking Sherlock. He feels a hand on the one he’s got in a grip around Sherlock’s reddened cock.

“I know,” Sherlock says breathlessly. “I’ve been there.”

Sherlock knows the signs of a person seeing hallucinations. Ever since he left John, he’s been through the same, seeing his lover wherever he went. He can still hear John’s voice in his head sometimes.

Hector opens his eyes and looks down. Sherlock looks like himself again. Hector sighs heavily. There is no way he can kill Sherlock. He feels like it would be like killing Peter, and he can’t watch him die all over again.

“I can’t do it,” Hector admits in a horrified whisper.

Sherlock watches him questioningly. “It as in kill me, give up and let me kill you, or finish what you’re doing.” Sherlock nods at their hands, still grasping his dribbling cock. “By the feeling in me, I’d say...”

Hector tips his chin against his chest and lets go. He places his hands on either side of Sherlock’s ass and slowly pulls out. Sherlock bites his lip, half disappointed at the loss.

“Get out.”

Sherlock puts his feet down on the floor and gets up on his elbows.

“Get out,” Hector repeats. “And don’t you fucking get in my sight again.”

Sherlock, still achingly hard and breathless, can’t move. He feels a twinge of pity in his chest. Hector looks miserable. Sherlock sits up properly, ignoring the thick gob of slow-running lubricant escaping his stretched ass, smearing beneath him on the carpet, and the semen dripping down his his front. If Hector wasn’t who he is, Sherlock would have reached out and touched him, knowing that’s what people do as comfort. John had taught him that much. However, this is Hector Dixon, the hitman hired to kill him, and even though he seems to have a heart, Sherlock won’t stay longer than necessary. He’d only approached Hector on a whim after all, seeing he had been having a fit.

Sherlock scrambles to his feet and pulls his trousers on, disguising his erection as well as he can, covering it with his jacket and coat after having wiped the come off him with a tissue from the nightstand.

“You should know...” Sherlock says, avoiding to look at Hector.

Hector winces at the sound of his voice.

“James Moriarty never leaves a job undone,” Sherlock finishes. “Either you kill me now, or he will kill you.” He straightens himself, brushes off his chest to flatten his clothes, and leaves without another word.

Hector keeps his eyes on the carpet in front of him, disgusted by himself and his actions. His mind’s reeling with the events just passed and the future ones that might come sooner rather than later.

This day has made Hector question everything he’s done for the past four months, and whether it was the right thing to do to let Sherlock walk out the door. What he knew, though, was that Sherlock was right.

 

~~~~~

 

Hector checks out of his hotel room that night. He pays the front desk and goes to stand outside to wait for a cab to drive past. While waiting, he puts on his gloves. It’s getting cold.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. He knows who it is before he can even dig it up. He doesn’t even look at the screen, just presses “answer”. He listens, ready for what’s coming.

“I’m so disappointed,” James’ voice rings through the receiver. “I had high hopes for you. Okay, they weren’t that high, but I thought you could handle him.”

There is a slight pause. Hector doesn’t say anything. He can practically feel James crushing his phone in his hand in anger on the other end.

“You’d better come over,” he says calmly and hangs up.

Hector stares in front of him, into nothing. How was he supposed to know where to go? In answer to his question a tall silhouette approached him, grabbed him by the neck and pulled him along. He hoisted Hector into a waiting cab some way back, and got in after him.

Hector pockets his phone and looks up at Sebastian’s taller figure as he settles next to him on the back seat. They sit in silence as the cab makes its way to a different hotel from last time.

Sebastian guides Hector through the lobby, into a lift, and when on the right floor, to the door of James’ room. Hector notices the “do not disturb”-sign hanging off the handle. Sebastian pulls out a keycard, and opens it. He waits for Hector to go in first.

Hector takes a deep breath and then steps inside. He calmly walks across the open space and sits down in the empty leather sofa that James, who’s sitting behind a desk by the window, motions towards.

James quickly types something on the laptop in front of him, his fingers ghosting fluently over the keys, before he shuts it and looks up at Hector.

He doesn’t speak, just watches. Hector and Sebastian do the same. The’re no tension in the room, the air is surprisingly relaxed. Hector even feels a smile creep up on his lips.

Sebastian repositions to stand in front of the door. Hector, with his back towards the door, hears him pull the safety off his gun. He straightens slightly in his seat at the sound and hopes James doesn’t notice. He can feel Sebastian’s eyes on the back of his head. He can feel his own gun tucked away inside his jacket, the barrel of the silencer prodding him in the side. The result of what happens next is a question of timing. He’ll have to take down Sebastian first, him being the crack shot. James is good too, but not as fast.

Hector takes a few deep breaths to steady himself. He gets up and walks slowly through the room, looking around as he does for anything that the two others can use as weapons, and for an alternative escape route. But seeing as they’re on the tenth floor, using the window would be idiotic when there’s a perfectly good door available.

James knows what Hector’s doing but neither says nor does anything to stop him.

Sebastian clears his throat.

Hector glares over at him and stops in his tracks. He now stands in a good spot where he has a clear shot of both men. All he has to do now is reach into his jacket, pull out his gun, aim and fire. But Sebastian is faster, he knows that. Hector will get grazed at least. He’s just got to make sure to dodge in the right direction. Now, will Sebastian immediately aim for my chest? Hector wonders. He has to move the second he reaches for his own gun.

Hector takes another breath. He looks at James with pretence sadness, furrowing his brow, before he swiftly reaches for his gun, simultaneously taking a step back, and turns to fire at Sebastian.

Sebastian moves too, stepping diagonally in front of him, away from Hector’s line of shot, his gun already raised and pulling the trigger. He hits Hector in the shoulder.

Hector gets a shot at him too, hitting him in the chest, right where he’d aimed.

Sebastian staggers to the side, his struck side turning his torso backwards. He pulls the trigger a second time, this one unaimed, but still hitting Hector in the upper arm, a few inches beneath the previous hole.

Hector gasps at the impact of the bullets burying themselves into his body. He bends over, but keeps moving to his side as he watches Sebastian sag to the floor with a thud.

James, who until now has sat watching, gets out of his chair and pulls out his gun. He aims it right at Hector’s head. He doesn’t shoot, though, and it has Hector hesitating where he stands.

“You killed my tiger,” James sighs. Hector quietly watches him round the desk. “You know they’re extinct...”

A crooked smile grows on James’ lips and he looks into Hector’s eyes. Before Hector knows it, his body moves on its own and charges right at the other man. He forces the gun out of James’ grip and tosses it across the room, causing it to slide over the carpeted floor and in under the bed.

“My my-----,” James starts, but Hector throws a punch at him, silencing him.

Hector feels a surge of satisfaction at the motion and does it again. He looks into those big, dark eyes, still watching his every move. He hates the way James looks at him with intrigue, hate and amusement, all mixed together. He’s a hard person to read, but Hector can tell he’s not nervous despite the gun now being pointed right between his eyes and the cooling metal resting against his skin.

James smiles. It’s all Hector needs. He pulls the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you wish to spread this on tumblr, please reblog it from me: [lustfullygazing](http://lustfullygazing.tumblr.com/)  
> 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hector's been under such strain lately that he's on the breaking point.

Hector breathes hard as the body becoming paler beneath him cools down, and he tries to settle his pulse. He gets back on his feet and wipes the splatter of blood off his chin and cheek with the back of his hand. He checks each place he’s been in the short time for any spill of his own blood. His shoulder aches - throbs - reminding him of the bullets buried in him. He needs medical attention.

Hector looks down at the body of Sebastian as he goes for the door and presses his ear up against it to check that no one’s in the corridor. When the coast seems clear, Hector opens the door and sneaks out. The sign hanging off the handle outside swings back and forth. In the back of his mind, Hector wonders how long it’ll take for someone to find the corpses in the room.

Probably not too long, Hector thinks, considering the room needs to be paid some time.

He closes the door behind him and straightens himself, trying to hide the wounds as best as he can. He’s grateful for wearing all black as it camouflages the blood running down his right arm.

Hector grabs it with his leather clad hand and presses it firmly to lessen the flow.

 

~~~~~

 

Hector makes his way back to his place, a flat he’d started renting in Brixton a couple of months back. He doesn’t use it much, but keeps it in case of an emergency, like this.

On the way, on more than one instance, Hector feels like he’s being followed or watched, but whenever he discreetly looks around, he can’t see anyone.

Has the word gotten out already? Hector ponders. Are there hitmen after me now? He’d just taken out one of the criminal web’s most influential men and his sniper.

Hector gets out of the cab some way away from his building and walks the rest of the way. But the blood loss is affecting him, he’s getting tired. He staggers up the three flights of stairs to his flat, basically pulling himself up by the railing.

When he finally makes it up, sure that no one’s watching him, he gets inside and locks the door the next second.

He groans loudly. He doesn’t even think twice of the lamp on his coffee table being on. Sweat is dripping down his forehead and he feels like he’s going to drown in it.

He peels off his jacket, shoes and shirt, and makes his way into the bathroom. In there he has almost all he could need for this type of situation; needles, thread, lighter, sterilizing alcohol, bandages, tweezers… The only thing he doesn’t have is blood.

His head spins unbearably. He sits down on the edge of the tub with the tools needed on the closed lid of the toilet. He glances down at his wound and winces at the sight. He takes a moment to collect his thoughts before getting to the task of digging the bullets out of himself and patching the holes up. The worst part is the extraction, during which Hector feels so faint that he almost topples over the edge a few times. In the end he lies down in the tub, to keep steady.

As soon as it’s done he cleans the wounds a second time and starts stitching. The needle doesn’t hurt, but it’s uncomfortable feeling it through his thick skin, prodding at his waiting finger before breaking through and doing it all over again. When that’s done, Hector takes a moment to breathe. He doesn’t realize how tense he’d been until he relaxes his shoulders against the cool surface of the tub and they ache with the motion. He closes his eyes for a moment, feeling more faint. He’s lost a lot of blood.

Hector’s eyes suddenly fly open. He thinks he’s just heard a gasp coming from the open doorway. He curses under his breath, hoping it wasn’t his usual hallucination of Peter haunting him again.

Frowning, Hector gets up on his feet and leaves the bathroom. He looks around in the next room, the only room, and then goes into the kitchen. Just as he’d thought: Peter is standing by the sink, bent over it, breathing heavily. He’s got a hand clasped over his mouth.

The creases on Hector’s brow deepen. He ignores the figure in front of him and returns to the bathroom to do the rest of the work on his shoulder and arm. He cleans the wounds one more time and then wraps himself as best as he can with his left hand, with the white rolls of bandages he has.

Refreshed, Hector leaves the bathroom a mess, only washing out the blood to avoid staining, and goes back into the kitchen. He has a bite to eat of whatever he has in the fridge, then returns to the other room, and lies down on the sofa.

He sleeps dreamlessly. The only thing going through his mind is the image of Peter he’d seen in the kitchen. Why had he seemed to disturbed? Up until now he hadn’t seemed to be aware of their surroundings whenever he appeared. So why had he been now?

Hector wakes with a start, his entire body jerking with the sudden motion. He looks around the room. It’s night out, but the room is lit up. He doesn’t remember turning the lamp on.

“How are you?”

Hector turns to see Peter sitting in the armchair next to him. He has a grim look on his face and he’s looking down at the floor in front of him.

Hector wonders if he’s still asleep or if his hallucinations have finally take a turn to the worse. He doesn’t reply Peter, though. Replying would mean him giving in to his illness and acknowledging Peter’s existence.

Hector’s head spins. He places his hand on his forehead; it’s clammy and hot. He glances at his bandaged arm and gasps. A deep red network of lines runs up it to his shoulder and chest, as if his blood veins are on the outside of his skin. It becomes hard to breathe. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Hector’s aware of the presence of Peter hovering over him. He mumbles something under his breath. Whatever he says is out of Hector’s mind in an instant as his vision goes black and he falls unconscious.

 

~~~~~

 

Distant voices fill Hector’s head as he comes back to consciousness. He tries to listen, but can only make out words here and there.

“Blood...” says a deep male voice. “...fever?”

There’s no reply, but Hector can tell someone answers the man, because he continues: “...going into shock...confused...”

Hector tries to concentrate on the voice but his body feels like it’s being dipped into a tub of ice. He shivers quietly for a while before feeling a warm hand being placed on top of his. The comforting sensation calms his body and he slowly relaxes before falling back into darkness.

 

~~~~~

 

Hector falls in and out of unconsciousness. When he finally wakes up and feels somewhat rested, he reaches up to rub the sleep from his eyes, but something on the back of his hand stops him. He takes a tired look at it: he’s strapped to an IV. He proceeds to check his surroundings. The empty white walls and equally sterile decor indicates that he’s in a hospital.

Hector doesn’t remember getting there. And why was he there?

A movement to his right catches his eye. A doctor is standing by his bed, studying his chart, and behind him in the far corner of the room is Peter. His arms are crossed over his chest and he’s looking worriedly at Hector.

“Ah, Mr. Dixon,” the doctor looks up from the papers, noticing Hector’s awake, and Hector’s confused look has him promptly explaining the situation. “You have septicemia - it’s blood poisoning,” he says. “You were lucky to come in when you did. A little longer and you would’ve gone into shock, and that could have had lethal consequences.”

Hector still tried to wrap his mind around how he’d gotten there.

“The gunshot wounds you’ve recently suffered got infected,” the doctor continues. “Now, I can tell you did a good job patching yourself up, but you should’ve come here immediately. You’ve undergone blood transfusion, so if you feel feverish or chilled, or pain through the IV or in your back or chest, then call for someone since those are reactions to the transfusion.”

Hector swallows and nods in response.

“We’re going to keep you in for another night, as you’ve already been here for three days.”

Three days?

“We just need to give you another once over tomorrow before you leave to make sure it’s all good.”

“Thank you,” Hector says quietly as the physician leaves the room after telling him to get as much rest as he can.

Hector leans back against the flat pillows and closes his eyes. The mattress against his back is hard and uncomfortable. His shoulder still aches. A warm hand is being placed on top of his clammy, cold one, and he glances up to see who it is. Peter looks down at him, his eyes shadowed by his fringe, but Hector can tell they’re misty with tears as they glisten in the dim light of the lamps by the bed. Peter bends over and kisses Hector on the forehead.

Hector sighs heavily. He’s missed the touch of Peter’s full lips on him for so long.

“I don’t care anymore,” he mumbles, but he’s torn. A part of him wants to give in, but another wants to fight to complete his mission of taking down the government officials he’s been targeting for a few months already.

Peter snuggles his face into the crook of Hector’s neck and snivels.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

Hector’s hand freezes where it’s just about to touch Peter on his back.

“I’m sorry,” Peter repeats. ”I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Hector’s heart drops in his chest. Peter’s deep, pleading voice right by his ear and the feeling of Peter’s hot breath on his neck makes Hector’s stomach turn as if he was hearing and feeling them for the first time.

“Get out,” he chokes out in a whisper. A shiver runs through him at his own words, but Peter makes him feel sick. His mind reels.

Is this even Peter? No... No. It can’t be. Peter’s dead... This must be someone else - someone who’s similar to Peter? Sherlock? Could it be Sherlock, but because I’m going crazy I only see Peter? Whoever it is, it’s NOT Peter.

Hector screams internally at himself, and doesn’t notice when Peter wordlessly leaves out the door.

 

~~~~~

 

The next day Hector signs the last papers to get out of the hospital. Certain that there’s someone after his head for what he did a week ago, he leaves St. Mary’s and goes back to his place as discreetly as he can. Unarmed, he feels naked. And as it’s already dusk, walking through Hyde Park, or any other way in his condition, is not an option, so he takes a cab and follows the usual routines: gets off a couple of blocks down the road from his flat, and walks the rest of the way.

When home, Hector immediately slumps down on the sofa, takes his shoes off, puts his feet on the coffee table, and leans his head back. But he’s well aware of the presence lurking in the doorway to the kitchen.

“You again,” Hector sighs, eyes closed, and unconcerned - too tired to care. “How did you get in?”

Did he pick the lock? I’ve got the only key.

Peter steps out into the sitting room and rounds the little table to stand in front of Hector.

“You’re not Peter,” Hector says with a frown on his brow and a tired voice like he’s been repeating the same sentence over and over, causing Peter to stop in his tracks.

“I can’t tell who you are,” Hector chuckles weakly. “But you’re not Peter. You could be Sherlock.” Hector shrugs. “Not entirely sure about that, though. I can’t really see well... but my nose still works fine, and that’s not Sherlock’s scent. I should know…” There’s a slight pause. “I do know one thing, though: you’re an omega. I can almost taste it.”

“Hector,” Peter says in his low voice. “It is me.”

Who? Sherlock? Or Peter?

Hector opens his eyes slowly, hoping they won’t keep showing him the ghost of his past but the truth. But there he is: Peter’s standing right by his feet, watching him with anguish in his eyes. Hector notes that his hands are clenched at his sides.

“Hector,” he says again. “Look at me. Am I really not Peter?”

An electric charge shoots through Hector that makes him shudder. He’s never mentioned Peter by name to Sherlock, so it can’t be him standing there in the middle of his flat. Who, then, could it be? Could it really be Peter? Another, rougher shiver runs through him at the thought. Subconsciously he wants to reach out and touch him to make sure this is all real.

Peter steps closer to Hector and kneels at his side. He leans forward and puts his head in Hector’s lap, resting his cheek against his knee. He closes his eyes and inhales the scent of the alpha.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Hector abruptly takes his feet down and stands up, ignoring Peter’s gasp of surprise. He strides across the small room before turning back to look at Peter who’s still on the floor.

At a loss of other words to speak he repeats himself: “You’re not Peter.”

Peter gets on his feet and takes a step forward. Cautiously, Hector takes one back. For a short while they look intently at each other in silence; Peter worriedly, and Hector sceptically.

“Hector,” Peter says, and without warning Hector charges at him.

He tackles Peter to the floor, fists raised. Peter tries to push him off but without much success. Hector lands a punch to Peter’s jaw, causing Peter’s grip on his other wrist to falter.

“Hec----- Hector!” Peter throws his arms over his face to protect himself from Hector’s constant punches.

“No. Fuck you!” Hector clasps his hands harder together and lands another one in Peter’s chest, ignoring the flash of pain in his own shoulder at the collision. “Shut up. Shut up...” A sob escapes his lips against his will.

“Hector,” Peter tries again. “You’re going to open your stitches.” Suddenly and unhesitantly he lowers his arms, ready to let Hector have his way with him. He thinks Hector has the right after what he’s done.

“Shut up,” Hector sobs, and punches him on the chest again and again. His hits are no longer full of rage but of frustration and they rapidly grow weaker as Hector feels the will in him leave. He slumps forward, his head leaned against Peter’s chest. He can’t breathe, and gasps for air.

Anxious, Peter reaches for him, his brow puckered.

“Fuck you,” Hector chokes and tries to squirm away from his touch. “...fucking... fuck.”

Peter wordlessly pets Hector’s back, his hand slowly moving up and down, hoping it will help. Hector does relax into Peter’s touch. It feels so good having his large hands on him.

This couldn’t possibly be anyone else but Peter, Hector thinks as his breath slowly returns to normal. No one has hands like that. They know exactly where to touch me.

After lying on the floor together for a moment, Peter clears his throat, and his hands stop moving. Hector raises his head and looks at him questioningly.

“Please, let me explain,” Peter says calmly. “I’ll tell you everything. And it’ll be the truth.” He pauses momentarily, seeing the reluctance in Hector’s face. “Why would I lie to you?”

Hector straightens above him and looks down uncertainly. Peter could easily manipulate him in the state he is now. He’s confused over what is reality and what are things his brain is making up. He’s torn between believing and not.

But he nods. He’s willing to listen, though he reminds himself not to believe it all too easily. He gets on his feet and settles back on the sofa.

Peter brushes off his clothes and gets up as well. He stands in the middle of the room as he starts: “My name is Peter Guillam,” he says, lowering his gaze from Hector’s in shame. “I work for the British Secret Service. Our job is to from the inside take down the part of the government that does its job wrong. I work with taking care of wanted people and officials who are against basic human rights.”

There is a pause as Peter lets his words sink in.

“I…” Peter takes a deep breath to steady himself. “I faked my death four months ago-----” he can hear Hector inhale, ready to start protesting, but continues calmly. “...because one of the officials I was supposed to take care of had made me a target, and I had to disappear.”

“I could have taken care of that,” Hector interrupts.

“You didn’t become a hitman until after I left, and you wouldn’t have become one if I’d stayed. And if I had stayed, we’d both be dead by now. You see, this man was one of the higher ups, and according to previous statements on him from our colleagues he was a sadist - very into extreme BDSM - who would imprison his targets, torture them, and have his way with them before killing them. The Circus - our branch of the Service - thinks of me as one of their better men, and didn’t want to risk losing me to that maniac.”

Hector looks at Peter in silence as he continues.

“I went underground. But I came back as soon as I heard you were a wanted man. You have no idea how many were after you - it was as if the entire criminal network woke up after you killed Moriarty - which was very well done, by the way. We’d been trying to watch him as best as we could for some time... Anyway, I alerted my colleagues as soon as possible, and they stopped the hitmen from getting to you while you were in the hospital.”

Hector folds his arms over his chest. He’s trying to find a solution that would’ve let Peter stay, even though it already is too late. He let’s the thought go and instead says louder than before: “But if you’ve been working for the government all this time, you of all people should know the risks of males bonding! So why...” The volume of it has Peter looking up at him in surprise.

“I work for the good guys,” Peter counters, slightly shaken by the sudden outburst. “The part that’s fighting against that law. Besides-----”

“What?”

“I love you,” Peter adds quietly. “I would never have gotten close to you if I couldn’t handle the secrecy and the sneaking around. And I still wouldn’t have changed anything even if I got to redo our entire relationship from the moment we met. No matter the risks I still would have fallen in love with you and pursued you wherever you went. I still would’ve let you bond with me. As many times as you wanted. Because I want a future which you’re a part of.”

Hector looks up at Peter’s softly blushing face which he tries to hide behind his hand, in silence. There’s a heavy throbbing in his chest. He’s speechless. Peter has never confessed to him like this; with so many words and such effort to get them out. He can feel his own cheeks reddening as the words replay in his head.

“So...” Hector says after a moment, trying to store the confession deep in his heart. “That’s it?”

“What?”

“You were dead! Care to explain that part? Or did I just imagine things back then? Was that whole night set up? Or was it just you and... that?”

Peter sighs.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sure you won’t forgive me easily - if at all... and you can punch me all you want - but I’ll keep apologising for what happened back then and for what I did.”

Hector waits. He’s getting impatient and starts wiggling his toes under the table, out of Peter’s sight.

“I did not set it all up. Those alphas and my----- our injuries were all real. After we’d taken care of the alphas - or rather, you had, I guess - the Circus intercepted your call to 999 and came to get me. They have medics, the two men that took care of me on the spot before taking me to HQ where they held me for a few weeks as I healed. Back then we saw that night as an opportunity to make me disappear from that official’s eyes. We’d been waiting for one like that, and when it came, we had to move swiftly to make sure the plan was waterproof. The situation before that was merely coincidence. What I did with my colleagues was all improvised.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I should’ve contacted you and let you know that I was alive. But I couldn’t risk anyone tracking me down.”

Hector frowns.

“How did you do it?” he wonders quietly, half-intrigued now. “You were dead - properly dead - when they took you away.”

“Pills,” Peter says curtly. “I took a few Benzodiazepines when you weren’t watching, and then washed them down with the alcohol you gave me. Together they caused my heart and lungs to slow down so their activity couldn’t be detectable to the touch.”

“You overdosed?” The colour leaves Hector’s face and it goes slack. He stares at Peter, not believing what he’s just heard. Nevertheless, Peter nods.

Chills run down Hector’s arms.

“I recovered,” Peter says. “It took some time, and it wasn’t pleasant… but I recovered.”

Hector lets his arms drop to his sides. He feels relieved: he’s gotten closure, an explanation at last.

“It’s really you?” he asks, his voice tight with emotion.

A weak smile forms on Peter’s lips and he nods. He approaches Hector, who gets off the sofa. As soon as they’re close enough, Peter’s hands start to move up Hector’s sides, and grab him firmly right above his waist. Hector looks down, and just as he does, Peter gently pushes him down onto the floor. He slides in between Hector’s legs and watches as Hector makes himself comfortable beneath him.

Embarrassed but willingly, Hector spreads his legs to let Peter get closer. Peter leans down and buries his nose in the alpha’s shoulder. He inhales and exhales slowly, taking in the long absent, unremembered scent.

Hector chuckles. He can feel the wall he’s put up in his mind start to crumble: a large chip comes off it and leaves behind a deep crack. One tap on it and it would be no more - Hector would accept whatever his eyes see as the truth. And there it is - the final blow: Peter tilts his head towards him and ghost his full lips over Hector’s, then passionately presses them together with a heavy, content sigh.

Unconsciously Hector holds his breath. He stares at Peter as he leans back and reaches out for him. Peter’s long fingers ghost down Hector’s jawline and neck, and in under the collar of his poloneck. Neither man says a thing. They’re both filled with anticipation.

Hector inhales a moment later and realises he’s been holding it, because his head spins uncomfortably. Peter cups his chin and leans closer.

“Hector,” he murmurs, causing Hector to shudder.

Hector’s hands suddenly seem to have a will of their own as they grab hold of Peter’s shoulders. He tries to wrap his mind around it: his hands are actually touching something. He moves his hands down Peter’s sides to his hips. Oh, how familiar it feels. There’s still a solid surface beneath them. One hand then comes up to run through Peter’s hair while the other holds onto his belt. It’s definitely his long, straight strands weaving between Hector’s fingers.

Peter, who quietly has been observing Hector’s recollection, keeps smiling.

“Guillam,” Hector says, and for the first time since Peter’s supposed death his existence is recognised. “Guillam.” Hector repeats the name over and over in a low whisper as Peter peppers light kisses over his lips.

Hector’s strong fingers still tugging delightfully at Peter’s hair causes a shiver to ripple through his body, and he rolls his hips against Hector’s. Thoughtlessly, he puts both hands on either of Hector’s shoulders and pushes himself up.

Hector hisses. His shoulder throbs painfully and it feels almost as if it’s started bleeding again.

“Oh God,” Peter remembers Hector’s injury and apologises. “I’m so sorry.”

“You’ll pay for that,” Hector chuckles darkly and grabs Peter by the collar of his crisp white shirt. He pushes Peter over onto the floor.

Peter gasps in surprise but doesn’t struggle against him. Hector leans down over him, straddling his hips and runs his lips in quick kisses up his long neck. He scrapes his teeth over the exposed skin and Peter hums approvingly. Hector feels the familiar old fire start to burn hotter in the pit of his stomach. In his trousers his cock gives a twitch of interest. Peter notices this and rolls his hips once more to urge Hector on; his own cock brushes up against Hector’s ass as he does. Much to his pleasure he can feel Hector’s cock rapidly hardening against his stomach.

Peter takes a deep breath when Hector straightens above him. He starts to slowly unbutton Peter’s shirt, and Peter watches him for a while before taking the initiative to unbuckle Hector’s belt and undo the fly of his trousers. Soon they are both completely undressed and breathing heavily as they watch each other. Peter’s lying exposed on the soft rug, waiting as Hector straightens the bandages on his shoulder after they’ve loosened when he removed his shirt.

“Let me get that,” Peter sits up and helps Hector to put the white material into place.

Hector smiles. He loves watching Peter’s fingers work. It’s mesmerising.

“There,” Peter says. He’s practically beaming at Hector.

Hector smiles sheepishly back at him and leans forward to plant his lips against Peter’s. While they’re locked together, Hector pushes Peter back down onto his back. Peter sighs at the feeling of the soft rug brushing up against his bare skin. Hector puts the weight of his hips against Peter’s and rolls them invitingly. Their half-hard cocks slide next to and against each other with a slick sound. Peter breathes heavily into Hector’s mouth. Hector moves the hands he’s had around Peter’s shoulders, down his sides ever so slowly, causing Peter to squirm beneath him. He grabs Peter by the waist as he starts moving his lips down Peter’s neck, over his adam’s apple and collarbone, and down his flat chest. He nips playfully at each nipple until they’re peaked beneath his tongue, before continuing down the middle of his stomach, dipping into his navel and then giving rougher kisses to his lower abdomen where the sparse pubes brush up against his face.

Peter presses his legs together on each side of Hector when Hector’s hot breath scatters over the base of his cock. It twitches at the change of temperature. Peter reaches down to run a hand through Hector’s neatly combed hair, gently tugging it back to tilt his head upwards.

Hector glances up at Peter’s flushed face and smiles. He flicks out his tongue and it grazes the head of Peter’s ever hardening length. Peter gasps. His grip on Hector tightens and he throws his head back, and Hector increases the pressure of his tongue against his erection.

“How would you like it?” Hector then asks and straightens.

Peter looks questioningly at him.

“Fingers or tongue?” Hector reaches down and slides his fingers between Peter’s ass cheeks. The tip of one prods at his hole teasingly. It’s already damp with the natural lubricant of the omega.

“T-tongue.” Peter swallows hard.

Hector smiles. He asks Peter to spread his legs further and bends over to bury his nose in the soft hairs around his cock. He then grabs both of Peter’s thighs firmly and lifts his legs up against his stomach for easier access to his ass. He mouths the rim before giving it a quick kiss. It flutters. Hector chokes back a groan. He asks Peter to hold on to his own legs because his shoulder is aching, and proceeds to lick at the tight muscle.

Peter’s breath slowly gets heavier, and he feels hotter. Hector’s every touch feels like it’s leaving a mark on his skin. Soon Peter’s legs start to tremble with the strain of keeping them up. Luckily, Hector is just finished. He gives Peter’s hole a final kiss, lapping up the lubricant dribbling out of it, before leaning back and saying that Peter can relax. Peter happily puts his feet against the floor and exhales heavily. He watches as Hector repositions himself between his legs with his fully hardened cock in one hand. He presses the head against Peter’s ass and asks him if he’s ready. Peter nods. Hector shifts forward. The heat radiating off of Peter’s body encases him immediately and he shudders. He continues pressing up against him. Peter relaxes his ass, and as soon as he does he can feel Hector’s cock start to slide inside; the head pops in without effort, and Hector thrusts gently for more to be swallowed up by the muscles working around him. He bites his lip when Peter clenches his ass unexpectedly tight. He staggers mid-thrust and leans over to plant both hands on the rug on either side of Peter. He takes a deep breath. Peter chuckles.

“What’s the matter? Coming already?” he asks cheekily, but his half-lidded eyes and pink cheeks give away that he’s trying hard not to moan.

“You’re one to talk,” Hector counters. He grabs Peter’s erection in one hand and gives it a tug. “Look at how you’re drooling already.” Precome drips freely from the slit as Hector strokes him again.

“Please,” Peter squirms in his grip. “Please...”

“What?”

“Fuck me.”

“Very well. Since you ask so nicely...” Hector steadies himself, lets go of Peter’s cock, and then continues thrusting inside him.

Peter grasps Hector’s taut thighs and pulls towards himself. He lets out a breathy whimper from between his parted lips. He flexes his abs and keeps them firm as his cock hardens further and Hector thrusts deeper. Hector feels Peter’s ass clench around him, and fists the long strands of the rug beneath them. His hips stutter once again. Peter relaxes his body and his head throbs at the previous strain. His breath trembles as he tries to catch his breath.

Hector pauses when he’s fully seated inside Peter. He looks down at his partner and the tiny drops of sweat forming on his brow. He licks his bottom lip lasciviously.

Peter tiredly reaches for Hector’s face and pulls him down. He stops to inhale right before their lips touch. But Hector eagerly closes the gap before Peter’s ready and causes their teeth to clash painfully. Neither part pulls away, though. Peter parts his lips and pushes his tongue against Hector’s lips to part them too. Hector opens his mouth compliantly. Peter runs his tongue over Hector’s large canines and then around his tongue.

Hector rolls his hips, eliciting a muffled moan from Peter and causes him to clench harder around him.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” Peter breathes into Hector’s ear as Hector buries his face into the crook of his neck and starts pulling out and thrusting back in lazily. “Ah!”

“I’ve missed you too,” Hector replies. He scrapes his canines along the soft skin.

Peter wraps his arms around his shoulders and his legs around his hips.

Hector sets up a comfortable pace for them both, and soon they’re both panting, filling the flat with heavy breathing, slick sounds of skin on skin, and the occasional moan, grunt and groan.

“Hector,” Peter calls out breathlessly a while later. “Hec----- I’m gonna come.”

Hector slows down the pace and looks down at his partner. He sits back on his heels and stops completely. He releases the grip he’s taken around Peter’s length. Peter dislikes it and whines in protest.

Peter reaches down between his legs and squeezes tightly around the base of his erection. He tries hard to concentrate on not coming yet. Hector runs his hands up and down the insides of his thighs soothingly, waiting for him to calm down.

“You okay?” he asks, seeing that Peter’s face has lost some of its redness.

Peter nods tiredly.

“More,” he whispers. “Ah, fuck!” He gasps as Hector thrusts in in one harsh motion. “Hector!”

Hector snaps his hips, causing Peter’s body to jerk backwards and another gasp to escape his lips, followed by a guttural groan. Hector smiles and rolls his hips once more then picks up the previous rhythm of his thrusts.

Suddenly Peter lets out a flurry of curses and arches his back. Hector’s thick cock has found the right angle and is rubbing against his prostate. His breath trembles, as does his legs under Hector’s grip.

“Oh, you like that, huh?” Hector asks daringly.

“Shut up and do it again,” Peter glares up at him with his bright eyes. “I’m almost… there.”

“As you wish,” Hector lets his eyes drop from Peter’s and down between their legs as he repeats the motion.

Peter rapidly becomes a whimpering wreck. Although his hand still holds firmly onto his cock, he squirms under Hector, his lean body mesmerising Hector to lose his focus.

The heat in Hector’s groin rises and he’s teetering on the edge of orgasm. He lets go of Peter’s thighs and wraps one hand around Peter’s leaking cock which Peter himself lets go. He smears the precome off the head all over the length, and synchronises his wrist with his hips. He wants Peter to come first. He wants to feel Peter contracting around him as he comes.

“Come,” he urges Peter in a murmur over and over.

“Kn- knot me,” Peter says. “Do it. Please.”

Pliant and his mind hazy with lust, Hector slows down momentarily as he presses the knot up against Peter’s ass. Peter tries to relax as best as he can. The knot intimidates him but he can just remember how good it feels, and how Hector fills him up impossibly much when it penetrates him. He takes a deep breath. The knot starts sinking in. Peter shudders as it stretches him open further and pops into place. Peter grabs fistfuls of the rug by Hector’s knees and pulls at it as the pressure in him builds up. He immediately spills over with a loud groan, shooting semen all over his rigid abs and chest.

Hector lets the contractions of Peter’s ass be the centre of his focus, but also watches the thick white fluid start to drip down Peter’s sides. His cock twitches inside Peter, and he’s coming too. He fills Peter up to the brim. Some even escapes from between his pulsating length and Peter’s tight rim.

“Fuck,” Hector breathes. The feeling of his own come surrounding him is arousing.

Peter reaches for Hector’s shoulders and pulls him down. He puts his lips against his ear and lewdly whispers: “Bite me.”

Peter’s words send a shiver through Hector’s entire body, and his teeth start to ache and his mouth waters. He closes the gap between them and kisses the fading bond mark on Peter’s neck. Peter inhales and holds his breath. Hector flicks his tongue out and licks the indentation. He then parts his teeth further and places them in line with the old mark. He bites down, gradually sinking further into the skin, and soon draws blood. Peter moans long and loudly in his arms, squeezing his arms tighter around Hector’s neck. Hector sucks up the blood and breathes heavily into Peter’s ear. He licks his lips clean while closing his eyes. He feels drained and wants to sleep, right there, in Peter’s arms.

They lie together quietly for a moment and Hector is starting to drift off when Peter speaks.

“I might be stepping over my bounds,” he says, staring up at the ceiling. “but would you give me another chance?”

Hector only hears the last half of the question, but it doesn’t matter. He knows that no matter how angry he is with Peter, his heart isn’t going to let him go. He nods.

“On one condition,” he replies.

The room falls silent for a minute before Peter asks what this condition is.

“Quit your job,” Hector says. “I’m not going to live with you again if I have to spend my time worrying about you. Unless you do that… I don’t want to have to think about losing you ever again.”

Peter considers this. He doesn’t have much to lose if he does as Hector asks of him and quits, only his financial security. His colleagues will help him in a pinch even if he doesn’t work with them anymore. But he’ll have to find another job.

“Then I have a request as well,” Peter says after thinking it over.

Hector lifts his head to indicate that he’s listening.

“You have to quit too,” Peter continues. “I’m just as worried about you. At least I have colleagues in my field who have my back. You don’t.”

Hector stays silent. He doesn’t speak for several minutes. Peter waits patiently for his decision.

“It’s either that,” Peter sighs in pretended defeat. “...or I join you in your job. Then I’ll always have my eye on you.”

Hector sits up suddenly, glaring down at Peter with his brows pushed together.

“No, you won’t,” he commands.

“Then quit.” Peter smiles tauntingly at Hector and runs his hands up and down his thighs.

Hector sighs. He knows that Peter’s request is just as valid as his own as they are the same. With a tired roll of his eyes he finally agrees to the terms. Both of them being out of jobs in the near future means they’ll have to save up what they have if they want to live comfortably, but Hector is ready to do it, because Peter will be by his side all the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you wish to spread this on tumblr, please reblog it from me: [lustfullygazing](http://lustfullygazing.tumblr.com/)  
> I've been working on an individual piece for this story for you to know what happens after this, but I don't know if I've got the inspiration to finish it. I hope so...

**Author's Note:**

> If you wish to spread this on tumblr, please reblog it from me: [lustfullygazing](http://lustfullygazing.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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